Sighing, Fingal rose from the bed as quietly as he could in the predawn gloom, leaving Gillian to sleep. There was an endless amount of work that needed to be done to bring Brathanead’s defenses up to an acceptable standard. Furthermore, his brother would be leaving early this morning. Fingal needed to see him off.
Gillian stirred as he dressed. “Fingal?”
“I’m here, Gillian. Go back to sleep for a bit.” She too had been working tirelessly and could use a little extra rest.”
She woke more fully. “Nay, I have too much to do to sleep the day away. Besides, Niall is leaving this morning is he not?”
“Aye, but he would understand.”
“He would think me lazy, rude, and unfit to be Lady MacLennan if I stayed abed instead of seeing visitors off.”
“Nay, he wouldn’t Gillian, but suit yerself. I will go down to the great hall and give ye a few minutes of privacy.”
She joined him moments later. After attending morning Mass, they bid Niall farewell together before heading their separate ways to start their daily work as had become their pattern. One of the most pressing needs was the training of Brathanead’s warriors. Clearly Malcolm had not put as much effort into this as he should have but that would change. However, another serious problem was the condition of Brathanead’s curtain wall. It wasn’t terribly large—most of the village lay outside the walls. Even so, it had fallen into disrepair and was critically weak in spots.
Unfortunately, it took men to rebuild the wall and if they were rebuilding a wall they were not training to improve their skills. Fingal had divided them into two divisions, one led by Diarmad and the other by Eadoin. They alternated between training and working on repairs.
He ensured that Diarmad had training well underway today before joining Eadoin where his men worked on the southwestern side of the wall. “How are the repairs coming?”
Eadoin shook his head. “Things are worse in this section than we imagined. Rory here has some experience with masonry. He has something to show us.”
“Aye, Laird, have a look here at this.” The older man reached forward and with just his finger was able to brush the mortar from between the stones. “The winds blow hard from the southwest much of the year. The rain and snow driven by the winds has broken down the lime mortar. Where that is the only problem, the loose mortar can be scraped out and patched to shore up the loose stones. However, in this part of the wall there are other problems. In most places the top of the wall is pitched to allow water to run off, but here the pitch was off and the top was a bit more level. In fact, between the effects of weather and years of sentries’ footsteps, there is no pitch left at all. It has allowed water to pool and penetrate into the heart of the wall. The effect of the water freezing and thawing within the wall has only made the problem worse. As we scrape out the old mortar, we just find more problems the deeper we go. I think it may be too far gone here to simply repair the damage on the surface.”
Eadoin looked shocked. “I had no idea it was that bad.”
“None of us did, Eadoin. Ye expect the surface mortar to break down over years, but none of us knew the heart of the wall was deteriorating too. Honestly, based on the damage we are finding, I think it would take very little force to break through this part of the wall. It’s the reason so many stones have fallen along this side.”
Fingal stepped forward to examine the wall. The mortar crumbled under his touch and he was able to feel slight movement in some of the stones. He turned back to Eadoin and Rory. “So, if ye can’t repair the mortar, what do ye suggest?”
“I think the best thing to do at this point is tear down the sections where the worst damage is and rebuild them.”
Eadoin frowned. “That will leave us very vulnerable, Rory.”
“I know that, but I don’t see a better way.”
“How quickly could it be done?” Fingal asked.
“Well, it might take weeks, Laird, but we could work in sections so the whole southern wall isn’t torn down at once.”
“If it were only small sections of the wall down at a time, we could create a moveable wooden stockade that might offer some protection,” reasoned Fingal.
“And post a heavier guard as an additional precaution,” added Eadoin.
Just then, as if fate stepped in to illustrate the abysmal condition of the wall, a heavy stone came crashing down from the top. Eadoin yelled “Laird!” diving toward Fingal, pushing him out of the way. The stone barely missed them both. Eadoin shouted up at the men on the wall, “what in the name of all that’s holy are ye doing?”
“We were loosening the top stones to replace them, as Rory said to,” called Coby from the top of the wall. “I’m sorry Eadoin, we didn’t know ye were down there.”
“For the love of God, watch what ye are doing,” Eadoin admonished. “Ye can’t just let rocks fall without a care for what is on the ground below. Ye could have killed us.”
“Aye, sir, we’ll be more careful.”
Fingal sighed heavily. “I guess this is all the evidence I need that the wall is not only insufficient to protect us, but is dangerously unstable. Aye, Rory, tear down what ye need to in order to make it strong and safe. How long do ye think it will take?”
“At the rate we are going, months.”
Fingal knew that wouldn’t be sufficient. He had hoped by dividing the men’s time between training and rebuilding, he could address both of the clan’s most pressing needs. However, the winter weather itself provided some measure of protection for the clan. Anyone who might seek to lay siege or attempt to overrun Brathanead was not likely to do it in the dead of winter. “We need to have this wall repaired by Easter or shortly thereafter. Otherwise we present too tempting a target.”
Eadoin frowned. “But Laird, Easter is but a month away. It will take all of our men working on the wall to finish it by then. Ye said yerself the skill of the MacLennan warriors is lacking. If ye think we are a target, don’t we need well-trained warriors who can defend us?”
“Aye we do, but even the best trained warriors will have trouble defending Brathanead with the wall crumbling. I think we need to focus our efforts on the repairs while the weather keeps the Grants or any other potential aggressors close to their hearths. For now the men will train for a half day every other day, and the rest of their time will be spent rebuilding. Rory, will that give ye enough men to finish this by Easter?”
“Aye, Laird. I think we can have the worst of it rebuilt by then.”
“Eadoin, do ye agree?” Fingal asked. “I can’t see a better way forward, but if ye have any thoughts on it, I am happy to hear them.”
“Ye are right. The wall must be the priority now. Have ye considered bringing in some men from other clans to bolster our ranks?”
“As ye are aware, Niall left a very large contingent of MacIan men with us, but he was only able to do this because Lairds Matheson and MacKenzie sent men to Duncurra in their place.”
“Given that our threat comes primarily from the Grants and Laird Chisholm is also plagued by them, perhaps he would lend some aid?”
“Perhaps, Eadoin, but our resources are stretched as it is. I don’t know if we could feed any more mouths, much less offer compensation for their service.”
Eadoin squared his shoulders with resolve. “Then Laird, we will have to make this work.”
~ * ~
At the evening meal Fingal discussed the changes in plans with Diarmad too.
“That is distressing news, Laird. I had hoped to use the next few months for training to bring the MacLennan warriors’ skills up.” Diarmad lowered his voice. “Too many of their most seasoned warriors were killed at Duncurra last year.”
Fingal glanced at Gillian. Her furrowed brow told him she had heard Diarmad’s observation. He hated to remind her of her loss.
“Fingal, maybe so many would not have lost their lives if they had been better prepared,” she observed. “Surely repairs to the wall can be accomplished over time. How c
an ye take men away from training?”
“I agree we need to ensure that the men are trained, Gillian, but the wall can’t be ignored.”
“Surely well-trained warriors are more important to our defense than patching mortar.” There was an irritable edge to her voice.
“Sadly, it isn’t just a case of patching mortar—”
She cut Fingal off before he could finish. “That wall has stood for decades. It will stand a few months longer. I think ye should focus on training the men.”
Fingal did not want to argue with her publicly but before he could say anything, Daniel cut in. “Gillian, this is not yer concern and ye have no place questioning the laird in these matters.”
She looked as if he had slapped her. Fingal covered her hand with his. “Nay Daniel, she loves this clan and I understand her concern. Gillian, I agree that we need a well-trained garrison but we also need a strong defensive curtain wall. I know it has stood for decades. However, there are places where the wall has been so damaged by the elements it is ready to tumble down.”
At her look of disbelief Eadoin added, “Aye, ’tis true. Water has damaged parts of the southwestern side of the wall so severely that it could crumble without the aid of a battering ram. In fact it is crumbling now. A stone fell from the wall where the men were working today and barely missed the laird.”
She turned her head sharply to look at Fingal. “Is that true? Were ye injured?”
“It is true but thanks to Eadoin’s quick reflexes I wasn’t injured. Unfortunately though, parts of the curtain wall are hazardous and can’t be ignored. It is best to tear them down and rebuild now, during the remaining weeks of winter.”
Gillian nodded, but still looked worried. Fingal tried to reassure her. “Gillian, the men will continue to train some while we are repairing the wall. I won’t overlook that. I promised that I would help make Clan MacLennan strong again, and I will.”
Chapter 10
The year since the death of Gillian’s father had been difficult, but the weeks since Aunt Meara passed away were doubly so. If Gillian had been the daughter of a laird it might have been different. She would have been trained to run a keep and help lead a clan practically from infancy. However, she was the daughter of warrior and had expected someday to marry a guardsman, craftsman, or even a farmer. She could cook, clean, sew, and manage a family. That was all she had ever expected to do.
Aunt Meara had been doing her best to teach Gillian the basics, but running a keep efficiently took great skill. The truth be told, Aunt Meara hadn’t been born to it either. She had only taken on the responsibilities of chatelaine at Laird Malcolm’s request a few years earlier after the elderly woman who had managed the staff and the keep for years had passed away.
Even with all of the upheaval she had experienced recently, the first four weeks of Gillian’s marriage was, without a doubt, the most confusing, frustrating, and oddly disquieting weeks of her life. Trying to keep the household running, a skill at which she was not quite adept, was hard enough. Now she had to pretend to be married to Fingal in every way. Many of her clanswomen teased her good-naturedly about her braw new husband and speculated about everything from the cause of the dark circles under her eyes, to the month in which she would deliver her first bairn.
She couldn’t tell them that the dark circles were because she was so tied up in knots about her feelings for Fingal she couldn’t sleep. She avoided going to bed as long as she could in the evening only to lay awake for ages, disturbed by his nearness. Regardless of what Jeanne had told her the day of the wedding, Gillian couldn’t put aside the fact that he was the son of her father’s murderer. She had good reasons to hate him and she wasn’t ready to let them go. However, any time he was near she felt off-balance. He was unfailingly kind and thoughtful; he seemed to charm everyone around him. Ailsa adored him.
Even those originally most opposed to his leadership were developing a growing respect for him, including Nolan. For the love of God, Fingal asked her for her opinion...often. And when she did have a concern, as she had over the decision to focus efforts on rebuilding the wall, he listened to her and explained his reasons.
Of course that only happened when she could manage to keep her wits about her. Sometimes she could barely think in his presence, much less offer anything worthwhile to the conversation. And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, ever since the day after the wedding her mother nagged ceaselessly about a betrothal between Fallon and Coby.
There was only a little more than a week of Lent remaining. Not only was Gillian worried that they were running low on grains and salted fish, staples during the days of fasting and abstinence, there was an Easter feast to plan. Ailbert’s records were usually good, but Gillian needed to double check the inventory. She thought she had found a few minutes of blessed solitude in the cellars and she relished the opportunity to just be alone with her thoughts for a while. However, she had barely started the task when her mother called to her from the corridor.
She thought about hiding, but knew it was pointless. “I’m in here, Mother.”
Her mother’s footsteps quickened until she reached the storeroom where Gillian worked. “Gillian, my dear, I have looked everywhere for ye. I couldn’t imagine where ye had gotten to.”
“I am checking supplies. Would ye like to help?”
“Oh nay, dear, I am hopeless with figures. I’ll just keep ye company.”
Gillian sighed. “Mother, I don’t need someone to keep me company. In fact, I will be able to focus better without company.
“Well, that may be, but we don’t often have time alone and I want to know what Fingal thinks of a betrothal between Fallon and Coby.”
“I haven’t asked him yet. There is so much to be done. Really, Mother, it can wait a little while.”
“Ye are thoughtless and selfish, Gillian.”
Gillian couldn’t quite believe her ears. “Mother, I am working myself to exhaustion for this clan. In what way am I selfish?”
“Ye have a new husband warming yer bed every night while yer sister grows into an old maid that no one will want.”
Gillian snorted. “Ye can’t believe that. Fallon is a lovely sweet lass and I sincerely doubt her thoughts at the moment are consumed with marriage plans or fears of becoming an old maid.”
“It doesn’t matter what ye believe or don’t believe. It’s yer responsibility to see her settled with a good husband.”
“And I will, Mother. Please, just give things a few more weeks to settle down.”
“Weeks?” her mother practically shrieked. “It has already been weeks. Nay, Gillian, this cannot wait that long. Mark my words, if ye don’t address this soon, I will take matters into my own hands.” Her mother spun on her heel and marched out of the cellar.
Gillian shook her head in frustration but went back to work. When she had finished her inventory, she made her way out of the cellars. She sought out Jeanne in the kitchens to tell her where their inventories stood. As always Jeanne welcomed her with a hot drink and a rest by the hearth. “Ah, my lady, ye look worn out.”
“Jeanne, please don’t call me ‘my lady’. I’ve always just been Gillie to ye.”
Jeanne chuckled but then sobered. “Gillie, ye are pushing yerself too hard.”
“No harder than usual.”
“Then why do ye look exhausted? Ah...are ye starting to appreciate yer new husband’s charms?”
Gillian couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Nay, Jeanne.”
“Nay? Is he not good to ye lass? There were always rumors about that one. I would have thought...”
“That isn’t what I meant Jeanne. I...that is, he...I...”
Jeanne looked shocked. “Ye don’t mean to say ye have refused him?”
“What? Nay, I...well not exactly.” Gillian put her head in her hands.
“Did he agree to this? To a marriage in name only?”
“It isn’t like that Jeanne. Everything was happening so fast. I didn’
t want to marry him but I knew it was the best thing for the clan.”
“But lass, how could ye ask that of him?”
“I didn’t—at least not forever. He just agreed to give me a little time to get used to the idea. Please, Jeanne, no one is supposed to know.”
Jeanne looked at her sternly. “Gillian, ye have been married for weeks now. On the morning of yer wedding I told ye that ye didn’t have to love the man, but ye had to earn his respect and give him yers. I said ye had to focus on the future and yer future was with yer new husband.”
“Aye, I know ye did.”
“Weeks, Gillian! Honestly, that young man has shown ye great respect in this. Much more than most men would have. Ye need to thaw yer heart lass or ye will remain firmly rooted in the past.”
“I’m trying, Jeanne.”
“Nay lass, by the looks of things ye are trying with all yer might not to.”
“But—”
“Nay, don’t argue with me. I see how ye are around him. Ye find him attractive, I know ye do. Any lass would. And when he is near ye, well I’ve never seen ye so flustered.”
“But, Jeanne, he’s—”
“Don’t tell me he is Eithne’s son! That is the past.” Her tone became gentle. “Lower yer guard, lass, and let him in. Ye might find him more than just attractive. Ye might find someone ye can trust and learn to care for and who cares for ye as well.”
“It is all so confusing.”
“Honestly, I think ye need to stop worrying about what ye think ye ought to feel and give in to what ye want to feel. There is no going back now, Gillian. If ye keep doing what ye have been doing, ye will keep being miserable.”
Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 Page 56
